I’m going on the trip of a lifetime without my boyfriend. All anyone asks is how he’ll survive without me

I was relatively late to the world of solo travelling. While most of my friends spent years backpacking around and hopping from one hostel to another during uni, it wasn’t until my late 20s that I headed out into this wide and brilliant world on my own.

As soon as I did, I was hooked. I travelled up the West Coast of America. I drove to Broken Hill and back. Then, very much bitten by the Aussie travel bug, I spent four months driving alone around this Great Southern Land.

Then, at 35, I met my boyfriend and my solo situation shifted. Suddenly, I found someone I wanted to travel with and experience different adventures with.

But occasionally, I miss the exquisite aloneness that comes from travelling by myself. When you go it alone, you have full autonomy. No one vetoes a five-hour round trip to see a historical artefact. No one talks on a sunrise hike when you’re immersed in the sounds of nature. No one rushes you. You get to experience everything in the way you want to, and you only have to accommodate yourself. Yes, it can be lonely and expensive – mostly when you realise you can’t stomach the mysterious odours of another 12-bed dormitory again – but the benefits far outweigh the negatives.

As my partner and I started to plan a European holiday earlier this year, I raised the idea of going a month ahead of him so that I could spend some time on my own in the Greek Islands. Though he was completely supportive and excited for me, when I mentioned our plan to other people, the most common initial response was, “How will he cope?”

As an adult man who has been living out of home since he was 18, holds a steady job, has his own friends and knows how to cook (or at least knows how to Google recipes), I feel confident in saying that he’ll cope just fine. But if the roles were reversed, I don’t think he would be asked the same question. He’d probably be met with slaps on the back, questions about the trip and excited remarks. Friends might say I’d miss him, but the word “cope” wouldn’t make an appearance.

I’m sure no one who raised concerns intended to imply that it’s my job to care for him as if he is a child who is incapable of fending for himself. It’s just something we say because it’s just something, deep down, we still believe: That adult men need female partners for survival.

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This is, obviously, incredibly sexist. But the reaction didn’t surprise me. We still assume women in heteronormative relationships hold not just the home together, but also her male partner’s life. Even when that partner shares housework and cooking duties, and cares for the dog, as mine does, the ingrained patriarchal attitudes that are built into our cores still exist. And if I’m noticing those attitudes deep within me, then they’re evident in others, too.